


Sweet Talk

by flythroughflames



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flythroughflames/pseuds/flythroughflames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. “My daughter is many things: clever, chatty, smart as a whip, and fiercely loyal, just like her mother. One thing she is not, however, is a bully.” Written for Prompts in Panem, August 2014. Day 5 - Blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Talk

"Come on, buddy, open up," I coax. I twirl the baby spoon into spirals, making whooshing and whizzing noises in an attempt to cajole my son into eating just a few bites more. He resists my attempts, pursing his lips shut every time the spoon gets close. I sigh and rear my hand back in order to try again when the telephone begins to ring.

I unfasten my son from his high chair, balancing its tray table in one hand and him in the other until I set the tray on the kitchen table. Baby on my hip, I make my way to the telephone, answering it on the last ring.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Mr. Mellark?"

"This is he," I respond as the baby reaches up to tug on my hair. It is getting a bit longer than I normally like; I'll have to ask Katniss to trim it a bit when she gets home from work. I pull a face at him, and he flashes me a gummy smile in return, his grey eyes twinkling.

"This is the principal at your daughter's school," the voice on the other line replies. "Your daughter has, ah, gotten into some trouble today," the principal says, nervously, and my heart drops into my stomach.

"Is she alright?" I demand. "What's happening?"

"She seems to have gotten into an altercation with another student today and-"

"What kind of altercation?" I interrupt. She's only six years old, what could she have gotten into?

"Mr. Mellark," the principal says sternly. "Your daughter pushed her classmate into the ground during recess, and, according to the playground monitor, told him he was 'dumb and didn't know anything'. She refused to explain the situation to the monitor. We have a strict zero-tolerance policy on bullying at this school, and I'm very sorry, but you're going to have to come and pick her up now, as she's been suspended for the rest of the day."

Suspended? A bully? None of this makes any sense.

Dazed, I mutter my understanding into the receiver and hang up. I begin dressing the baby into his little jacket and slip my own shoes on. I strap him into his stroller and we make our way down the street to the elementary school.

My daughter is many things: clever, chatty, smart as a whip, and fiercely loyal, just like her mother. She can charm her way into people's hearts in no time at all-she has the ability to wrap any adult she encounters around her little finger and can strike up a friendship with even the shyest of children.

One thing she is not, however, is a bully.

I collect her from the front office and we walk back home in silence. The baby falls asleep on our way back, and I lift him from the stroller once we are back inside the house.

"Go to your room," I tell her sternly. "We'll talk about this more once I put your brother down."

She nods and looks at the floor, her thick, dark hair obscuring her eyes.

"Okay, daddy," she mumbles, and scampers up the stairs to her room. I sigh and make my way to the nursery. I place the baby down in his crib, smoothing his downy blond curls and pressing a kiss on his forehead before walking across the hall to my daughter's room.

She's sitting on her bed, her favorite stuffed duck clutched in her arms. She looks so upset and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. I hate seeing her unhappy.

I gingerly sit down next to her and pull her into my lap. She buries her face in my chest, and I feel her small body begin to shake with impending sobs.

"What happened today, sweetheart? Why did you push that boy down? You're not like this," I say softly, and that's all it takes for the tears to begin.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she wails against my chest. "Hunter was j-just saying mean things and it made me so  _m-mad!"_

"What mean things? Was he being mean to you? Why didn't you just tell the teacher?" I ask her, confused, but she shakes her head violently.

She mumbles something, but I can't understand her as my chest is muffling her words. I pull her forward, and tilt her chin up so I can look at her.

"What was he saying, sweetheart? You can tell me," I implore her. Her lip begins quivering again, and she hiccups before crying out.

"He was teasing  _you,_  daddy!" she says, and the tears begin flowing again.

"Me?" I question, and she nods rapidly.

"He was s-saying that you were a  _sissy_  because you stopped working at the bakery to s-stay home with me and the b-baby instead of going to work like the other daddies, and that Mama should be the one staying at home, and it just made me so  _m-mad_ , because you're not a sissy at all! You're s-strong, you can pick up the big boxes that come from the train all by yourself and when we go to the b-bakery, you pick up all of the big bags of stuff and you even could p-pick Mama up when she had the baby in her belly, and he was just being so  _stupid and dumb_!"

She continues to ramble, her indignation punctuated with hiccups and sniffles, and I'm floored. I stopped going into the bakery every day after our son was born. Katniss was more than capable of managing it, and she was much better with the accounting and managing the payroll than I ever was. We both decided that I should be the one to stay at home with the children, and neither of us regretted the decision. I didn't miss going in every day, and sometimes Katniss was even able to bring the books home and work from the office at home. It was a system that worked perfectly for us.

My daughter continues to speak a mile a minute, and I place a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Her blue eyes, so similar to mine, are rimmed with red and my heart swells with love and pride.

"Are you mad, daddy?" she asks in a small voice, and I shake my head.

"I'm not mad, cupcake," I say, squeezing her tight. "I'm so very proud of you for sticking up for me, but sweetheart, if someone's giving you a hard time, just tell the teacher, okay? I don't want you to get in trouble because of someone else."

She nods against my chest, and I hug her a little tighter.

"Okay, Daddy," she says. "I love you lots."

I smile softly, rocking her in my arms, and kiss her hair. "I love you, too."

We sit in silence for a moment, rocking gently, until she yawns quietly.

"You want to take a nap?" I ask her, and she nods.

I tuck her in, fluffing the pillows behind her and securing the small duck in her arms.

"Goodnight, princess," I say, pressing a kiss on her forehead, and she grins softly, eyes drooping shut, before popping back open.

"Wait!" she says anxiously. "Are you going to tell Mama I got in trouble?" she asks, her eyes wide.

I chuckle before shaking my head. "What your Mama doesn't know won't hurt her," I say lightly. "It'll be our little secret," I reply with a wink, and she grins.

"I love you, daddy," she says, throwing her little arms around my neck and squeezing me to her.

"I love you, too, sweetheart."


End file.
